


A Fine Wine

by LovelyCreature



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alone, Angst, F/M, Frustration, Loneliness, Masturbation, Other, Passion, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyCreature/pseuds/LovelyCreature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn Stark is the only thing on Petyr Baelish's mind after their brief encounter at his brothel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fine Wine

Lord Baelish ran his hand through the young maiden's red hair, sighing. The girl noted that he didn't seem like himself, and naturally she worried it was something she had done. She prayed this was not the case.

"Is something the matter m'lord?" she asked sheepishly, her slender finger tracing along his collarbone. He couldn't do this. He couldn't pretend any longer. Littlefinger sat up, his mind stuck on one particular thing. Or rather, one particular person.

Kya was lovely, with her perky breasts and maroon waves of hair framing her round face. That much was undoubtable. Any man would be lucky to so much as look her way. Yet, she'd never be the same as his Cat. Nobody could replace her -not any whore in all the Seven Kingdoms.

Littlefinger threw his legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through his greying hair. How could she just show up like that? After all these years? It was like she'd committed a crime -a murder on his own well being. Her face had rooted all sorts of feelings he had thought to have buried so long ago.

"M'lord." Kya sat beside him; Petyr almost forgot she was still there. "Mayhaps you'd feel better if you lie down." Littlefinger looked over at the girl who was no more than sixteen years. Her large, dark eyes looked up at him bashfully as her hand crawled onto his lap. He swept her wandering hand into his own, holding it tightly.

 _She wouldn't even understand Petyr_ , he told himself, suddenly unsure what to say to the girl. For this man, it was strange to be at a loss for words. His smile was just as sly and devious as Kya had been told. She returned the smile, but searched his eyes for something more. Just as she sensed a certain kind of sadness behind that greenish-grey gaze, he looked away from her.

"My dear, it'd be best for you to go," he said cooly. He flicked his gaze back to hers, seeing confusion clearly written out on her face. The whore lingered a moment longer before nodding with understanding.

"Yes m'lord." She stood up, seeming more upset with herself than with the Lord Baelish. She grabbed her satin robe off the bed and slipped into it without another word. With that, she disappeared from the small room as if she'd never entered at all.

Petyr sat on the edge of the bed, his mind stuck on Cat. She'd aged so splendidly, like a fine wine. He had imagined that the north would be cruel to her, and while it'd made her lips crack and her heart cold, she still remained the beauty of Riverrun he remembered as a youth. He closed his eyes, thinking of when she would tousle his hair and smile brightly as they played along the river.

The innocence of the memory shifted suddenly. The thought of Catelyn's naked, sun-kissed body swimming in the cool summer waters filled his mind all at once, arousing him deeply. He knew she'd be happier here in the south. The north was no place for a Tully. No place for his precious Cat. She deserved the Dornish wines and south's sun on her as she walked along the river and through the markets -not to be locked away in a castle only to produce heirs for Eddard Stark.

 _I would give her anything she desired. I would give her jewels and perfumes. I would give her my love. My trust. I would give her the world if it so killed myself,_ Petyr thought. He hated how true all of that was. How could one woman control him so much? How could one person drive him to such a state as this? Nobody made him feel like this. He bit his lip as he imagined touching her. Just the thought made him hot with longing. He flopped back onto the bed, touching his manhood with Catelyn in mind.

 _I would kiss her neck and leave my mark for all to see. Her moans would be my reason. Her kisses my armor._ He grew hard, his moan catching itself in his throat.

 _I would run my fingers through that beautiful red Tully hair and smell her sweetness. We would lie together in my bed and make love all through the winter. We would forget winter. We would forget pain and coldness and misery. She would bear me a child perhaps. A strong and handsome son that would rule lands and lords alike. Or a clever and gorgeous daughter every man would fight for._ Petyr unlaced his breeches, and began to slide his hand up and down his hard cock. Slow at first, but as his imagination ran wild, he pumped himself faster and faster. His heart began to race with his thoughts.

_My lovely Cat. My precious and perfect and wonderful Cat._

When he came, he was surprised by how out of breath he was. He felt vulnerable and insignificant lying there having just pleasured himself with the image of Catelyn. The desire transformed rather abruptly to that of anger. He was being stupid. The only woman he would ever love only saw him as a brother. That's all she would ever see him as. Even when he fought for her, it was not enough. He was only making things worse. How dare she show up like this? He withered on the bed, tangling himself in the blankets. How dare she put the _Master of Coin_ in this situation?

He sat up, disgusted by himself. Disgusted by the wet stickiness of his seed on his hand. Angrily, he wiped it off on the blanket. These were the dreams and wishes of a foolish boy and Petyr Baelish was _not_ just some stupid boy.

 _Not anymore,_ he reminded himself bitterly.

Petyr stood up, crossing the room naked. He reached the short dresser perched beneath the window. On top of it was a half-filled bottle of wine. He didn't bother with cups and instead drank straight from the bottle. The warmth of the alcohol felt refreshing as it glided down his throat. He stared out the window, overlooking into the courtyard of his brothel. He rested his elbows on the window sill, sighing. His whores were seducing men to take to a bedroom for coin, all of them working hard from the looks of it.

He drank more wine.

While he knew thinking of Catelyn was a waste of his breath, he couldn't shake the possibilities and dreams from his being. When would enough be enough? If not even twenty years could mend the pain, what good would thirty or forty or fifty years be?

 _If there_ are _Gods they did not smile upon me_ , Littlefinger mused.


End file.
